


blessed be the night we're breathing in.

by redhoods



Series: the closest we'll get to heaven sent. [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, Light Voyeurism, M/M, Teasing, fjord is a Good Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 06:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18440684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Caleb’s fingers on his thighs, a hand to his lower back, fingernails down the back of his neck. The sweetest sort of torture, and all Fjord has been able to do is hang on for the ride and hope Caleb takes mercy on him at some point.“Fjord!”He blinks and everyone is looking in his direction, “Sorry, blanked out there. What’s going on?”





	blessed be the night we're breathing in.

**Author's Note:**

> THE FOLLOW UP. you don't have to read the first one but you should anyways. i have a whole list of ideas for this series, including more fake married shenanigans. good times.
> 
> you can't convince me that caleb would not be an absolute tease. and also that fjord would be so good for him. 
> 
> title is from heaven, we're already here by the maine.

Fingers press into his thigh under the table and Fjord is losing his mind, slowly but surely being driven mad by a wizard that doesn’t even have to resort to magic to do it.

It’s been two days.

Two. Whole. Days.

Of this. 

Caleb’s fingers on his thighs, a hand to his lower back, fingernails down the back of his neck. The sweetest sort of torture, and all Fjord has been able to do is hang on for the ride and hope Caleb takes mercy on him at some point.

“Fjord!”

He blinks and everyone is looking in his direction, “Sorry, blanked out there. What’s going on?”

Beau is smirking at him and he studiously ignores her, even though she’s directly across from him. Jester is the one looking expectantly at him, so he focuses on her and offers her a smile, “We were talking about spending the day at the beach tomorrow.”

The fingers on his thigh dig in, then drag _up_ and it takes monumental effort not to curse or groan or press up into it. He swallows, “That sounds like it’d be mighty fun, Jes,” and feels like he just stepped off a cliff with no guarantee there’s anything to catch him when she starts smirking, a slow spreading thing. Cat that caught the canary or whatever that phrase is.

Got the cream maybe? Either way, he’s just opened the door to something and he can’t figure out what in the moment. Caleb really is driving him mad.

“I bet it will,” she says and he can see Caleb smirking out of the corner of his eye, “Maybe Caleb will even get naked again.”

There’s a bit of white noise in his ears, so he almost misses Caleb saying, “Ja, perhaps I will. The water was very nice last time,” all casual and calm. If the slow dragging touches don’t do him in, it’s going to be Caleb’s confidence, the way he’s settled in his own skin over time.

“Fjord, are you breathing?” Beau kicks him under the table and he does bare his teeth at her a little, even though she might’ve been right. He’s not sure.

“Well, you all have to forgive me for skipping out on beach day,” Nott declares and Fjord would thank her for the shift in attention, except she’s squinting at him in a way that’d make him shift restlessly if Caleb’s fingers weren’t so high up on his thigh.

Jester replies to Nott, but Fjord doesn’t hear it, not when Caleb’s hand slides up and ghosts over the length of his cock through his pants. He nearly jerks out of the chair, if only because he’s got a death grip on his chair and the table to keep himself in place.

When he manages to drag in a breath, the only person that seems to be paying him any mind is Caleb, who slides his hand back down to its previous position on his thigh.

His fingers are stiff when he forces them to release the table. Trying not to wince, he presses his palm over the claw divots left in the table top. Caleb hums next to him, like he’s just learned something very interesting.

A server comes with another round of drinks and Fjord latches onto his tankard gratefully. He lifts his eyes and makes the mistake of meeting Beau’s. She’s got an eyebrow lifted at him and she cuts her eyes to Caleb and back. He takes a long drink and ignores her snort.

“Caleb, do we have to worry about your fair skin under the sun?” Caduceus is leaning forward, his cheek in his palm, and it’s probably the only reason he doesn’t know what’s happening under the table. 

Next to him, Caleb hums and his fingers start tapping a pattern against his inner thigh, “More than likely, but I can get salve for it. I used to turn red as a tomato after just an hour in the sun when I was young.” How he’s talking so casual, even, is leagues beyond Fjord right now.

Jester tilts her head at Caleb, “Is that why you have so many freckles?”

Fjord’s been purposefully not thinking about the freckles.

“Ja,” Caleb pauses, taking a drink from his tankard, “I suppose none of you have issue with the sun then?” His attention drifts briefly to Yasha, who’s the only other person with the same fair skin, and then Beau, the only other human.

Beau shakes her head, lowering her tankard and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I don’t think I’ve ever burned.”

“What about you, Yash’, you’re very pale?” Jester looks genuinely interested and Fjord nearly sags without the attention in his direction, leaning forward and bracing his elbow on the table as he takes another long pull from his tankard.

Caleb waits for him to swallow before he digs his nails in and drags them up.

If someone had told Fjord even a month ago that Caleb was a tease, he would’ve laughed himself silly. Or drunk himself silly. Now it’s entirely the latter. He’s draining the dregs of the ale from his tankard before he realizes it and, as badly as he wants to get more, he’s not sure he can get up from the table without giving anyone an eyeful. 

He bumps the empty tankard away from himself with his knuckles and realize he’s missed a chunk of conversation again.

Caleb leans against his arm, chin on his shoulder, “Want another, liebling?” 

The others are listening and he’s strangely aware of it.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replies, laying his arm across the back of Caleb’s chair, stretching and unconsciously rolling his hips into Caleb’s hand.

The hand lifts away.

Fjord gnashes his teeth together hard, determinedly not looking in Caleb’s direction.

“Hey, Caleb,” Jester sing songs and Fjord starts listing parts of a ship to himself in his head.

“Yes?” Caleb leans forward, both elbows on the table now and hands around his tankard, though one of his long fingers starts tracing the rim of it. Fjord can’t look away, both in that he can’t pull his eyes away and that the only way for him not to see is to turn physically away. He presses his knuckles to his mouth and tries not to bite down on them as he turns his attention desperately elsewhere.

He can still see Caleb though, the slow trace of his finger around the tankard.

Fjord tries very hard not to shudder.

Jester thankfully seems unaware of Fjord’s plight, “What does that mean?” Her nose scrunches, “Lieb-ling? I’ve heard you use it a few times now. And the other one that sounds like you’re calling someone a dirty name.”

It doesn’t seem to take Caleb off guard and his smile is that soft fond thing that Jester seems to bring out of him, the one that once upon a time, Fjord had been jealous of. “Liebling means something like darling, or even favorite in some situations,” he explains and Fjord thinks he would’ve rathered the insanity by teasing than this, “Schatz is sweetheart.”

At some point when Fjord’s attention had shifted back to Caleb, Jester had pressed her hands to her face. She almost squeals, “Are you calling Fjord _darling_?” Her voice dips on the ‘darling’ into some approximation of Fjord’s Vandran accent.

He scrunches his face.

Caleb’s head tips and he turns that same soft fond smile in his direction, “Ja, I suppose I am.”

Oh.

Boy.

Jester squeals again and Beau squints between the two of them, “Are you two gonna be all gross now?”

Everyone is looking at them now and Fjord drops his hands before the urge to pick at his tusks gets too overwhelming, carefully not looking away from Caleb.

There’s a moment where Caleb just watches him, like he’s looking for something, and he must find it because he turns his attention to Beau, “The group isn’t going to change, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Beau narrows her eyes at him and the two of them have one of their showdowns that Fjord has started calling ‘sibling bonding’ in the confines of his own mind, “Nah, it’s more like I’m worried about walking in on the two of you -”

Fjord jerks hard, standing up before she can finish and now everyone is definitely staring at him, “Who wants another drink? I sure do,” and makes a hasty retreat to the bar for something stronger than ale.

He’s taken two large gulps, debating just knocking the rest of it back, when a hand touches his lower back and then Caleb comes to rest at his side, “Are you alright, Fjord?”

“Mhm, peachy keen,” he makes an ‘o.k.’ symbol at Caleb with his fingers and takes another drink and doesn’t meet Caleb’s pointed gaze.

“If I pushed too far -”

Fjord waves a hand at him, “Nope,” he pops the ‘p’.

There’s a moment of quiet, though Fjord can almost hear Caleb thinking at this point before he says, “Oh,” like he’s learned something else new about Fjord already. Gods, he’s got to get better at locking this shit down. Caleb’s way too clever and it really shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.

“Finish your drink,” Caleb tells him, so he does.

And then Caleb takes his hand and tugs him to the stairs without even sparing a glance at the others.

Fjord is lost to anything but Caleb’s hand in his and the line of Caleb’s shoulders without his coat and holsters, the ponytail his hair is pulled into leaving the line of his throat bare. The distance up to their room seems to past in an instant and then he’s crowding against Caleb’s back, watching him unlock the door.

Caleb presses back against him briefly and then pulls away forward, turning as he goes so he’s facing Fjord, “Come on, liebling, I think you’ve been good,” he says low and curls a finger at Fjord as he backs into the room and Fjord is helpless but to follow him in.

The door shuts with a soft click and Caleb doesn’t even turn, simply snaps his fingers and the candles flare to life. And then he moves, backing Fjord right into the closed door and slotting their mouths together.

If it hadn’t been two days of being teased within an inch of his life, Fjord would’ve been embarrassed, but instead he groans, loud in the quiet of their room, fingers grappling to try and get a hold of any part of Caleb. He ends up with a hand on Caleb’s hip and the other on the back of his head, drawing him in until they’re flush.

They stay like that for a while, Caleb’s arms coming up to slide around his neck, already dragging his fingers back and forth through Fjord’s hair. Caleb is the one to pull back, “Come on, liebling, to the bed.”

He tucks his face against Caleb’s neck and breathes for a minute before he nods, letting Caleb lift his head back up.

Caleb’s thumbs sweep over his cheekbones and it takes effort for Fjord to keep his eyes open and on Caleb, “Your pupils really do get so large,” he says, voice low already, “Are you going to be good for me?”

Fjord swallows and realizes he doesn’t trust his voice, so he simply nods.

“Gut,” Caleb pulls away then, fully stepping back away, eyes sweeping over Fjord’s entire body, before he turns and goes to where his things are on the desk, “You should start undressing.”

There’s a beat before he jolts into movement, going to sink on the edge of the bed so he can pull his boots off and his tunic follows and he doesn’t care where any of his clothes go as he scrambles to get them all off. He can hear Caleb rustling in his pack and something about that has anticipation curling hot in his belly and by the time he’s fully naked, Caleb is in front of him.

His boots are gone, but otherwise he’s still fully dressed. Really, the only sign that he’s effected is the red of his cheeks that’s slowly spreading. He’s got a vial in his hand that he puts on the bedside table, “On the bed, liebling.”

Fjord sinks back onto the edge of the bed and then scoots himself back further, up towards the pillow at a few gestures from Caleb. It gives Fjord the perfect view as he watches Caleb strip out of his clothes, more perfunctory than for show, and it’s not like it’s the first time Fjord’s seen Caleb naked, not even the fifth, but it’s the first time he can _look_.

Gods, he’ll get to touch.

Caleb joins him on the bed, shuffling up on his knees, sweeping his hands up Fjord’s thighs and nudging them apart with gentle pressure, “I have been thinking a lot about this,” he says and catches Fjord hand before he can touch bare skin.

For a very long second, Caleb simply watches him and then takes both of his hands and moves them up to the headboard. Which is not at all what Fjord wants in this very moment, but it means Caleb stretches over him, creating skin contact in a lot of faces and also bringing a collarbone right level with his mouth, so he presses a kiss there.

“I want you to keep both your hands up here,” Caleb says as he wraps Fjord’s fingers around the bars of the headboard.

“Cay -”

“You can be good for me, can’t you?”

And Fjord whines, flexing his fingers around the bars as Caleb slides back down, settling back on his knees between Fjord’s thighs. “Don’t worry, liebling, you’ll get the chance to touch,” he reassures, dragging his fingers up Fjord’s thighs and up over his hips and higher, before dragging his nails back down, “If you want me to stop or slow down at any point, Fjord, you tell me, ja?”

Fjord nods and licks his suddenly very dry lips, back arching when Caleb scrapes a nail over one of his nipples, “Yep, I’ll - ah, yeah, I’ll do that,” he says, letting his own voice slide through.

Caleb hums his approval and Fjord shudders out a quiet groan as another nail scapes over his nipple again, “Gut.” And then Caleb stops moving his hands, leaves them spread wide over Fjord’s sides and just looks, eyes almost a physical caress. Fjord has to close his eyes against it, unable to take that sort of focus directed at him full on.

Part of him expects Caleb to call him out on it, but he doesn’t say anything and Fjord isn’t sure what he’s focused on now, but his hands do start moving again. Caleb’s fingers are strangely calloused, must be the consequences of books and writing and casting, and the light drag of them over skin is maddening.

“Caleb,” he whines quietly, asking for something, but not sure what.

He can’t see Caleb’s face, not with his eyes still clenched closed, but he can picture the lifted eyebrow as Caleb waits him out, waits for him to vocalize what he’s feeling. The hands stop at his hips, squeezing them, and then the bed starts shifting.

There’s nothing but the pressure of Caleb’s hands on his hips for so long that he opens his eyes, confused and wanting, only to find Caleb staring at him, face mere inches from his cock. His hips twitch against Caleb’s hands and Caleb’s lips drag into a half smirk, “There you are.”

Which means he’s watching as Caleb leans down and drags the flat of his tongue over the length of his cock and the sheer shock of it means that he can’t do anything to muffle the groan it drags out of him.

Caleb looks far too pleased with himself, but all Fjord can do is hang on to the headboard for dear life as Caleb does it again and again and again. He nearly forgets himself when Caleb wraps his lips around the head of his cock, starts to release the bars, but Caleb’s eyes flick up to him and Fjord whines, adjusting his grip.

It’s nothing more than a tease, the few gentle sucks that Caleb gives before he pulls up, biting a kiss into the meat of Fjord’s thigh, “You’re being so good for me, liebling,” and he knows that Caleb doesn’t miss the way his cock twitches at the gentle praise.

He gets an eyebrow lifted in his direction and it’s only because he doesn’t want to disappoint Caleb that he doesn’t remove his hand from the bar to cover his face.

“I had my suspicions,” Caleb says, voice low, gentle as he drags his lips over Fjord’s thighs, over his hips, down the crease of his thigh, his beard scruffing over skin with gentle rasps. Fjord’s looking forward to the burn of it and isn’t sure what that says about him.

A finger rubs over the space behind his balls and Fjord nearly jerks out of his skin, a moan punching right out of him, “Fuck, Cay.”

Caleb presses a hand to one of his thighs, pushing them open more, “That was my plan, ja,” he says, because he can be a right bastard when he wants to be and Fjord can’t even gripe at him about his poor timed humor when a finger brushes over his hole.

Fjord whines softly as Caleb leans away, but a hand smooths over his thigh in a gentle pet and he watches Caleb retrieve the vial from the bedside table.

“Awfully fortuitous of you having that,” he comments, trying desperately to haul himself back from the edge that he was wildly teetering on.

All he gets is a grin in response, before an oil slick finger rubs over his hole and his train of thought is shattered again. It’s hard to focus on anything but the sensation of touch, but he can’t look away from Caleb either, the intense focus on his face, his lower lip caught between his teeth, the blush spilling over his cheeks and neck and chest.

Caleb only keeps teasing though, rubbing fingers over his hole, but never actually pressing in. And he keeps scuffing his chin over Fjord’s thighs, dragging his beard over the skin, and Fjord thinks Caleb’s purposefully trying to rough the skin up, leave it a little raw.

He really is going to lose his mind.

It gives him a new appreciation for Caleb’s self control and restraint, because he didn’t think he could be this calm, this collected if their positions were reversed.

“Caleb,” he keens softly, hips unconsciously twitching, trying to get something, anything.

All he gets is that damned raised eyebrow and a smile.

He rolls his hips purposefully this time, “Caleb, _please_.”

“Good, very good,” and Fjord isn’t sure if it’s that or the pleased tone of Caleb’s voice or the finger that finally, _finally_ presses into him, but he whines, a sound high up in his throat.

By the time Caleb has two fingers into him, Fjord feels like a total mess, sweaty and straining against the bars of the headboard and maybe drooling a little around the points of his tusks, and Caleb still seems mildly unbothered, calmly fucking him with two longer fingers. And then he starts talking.

“You know, I’ve thought about this for a while, but especially these last two days,” he says, voice an easy cadence that in other situations, might’ve helped lull Fjord into a doze, but here and now, they drive him a little crazier and he’s hanging on to every single word.

Caleb doesn’t even seem to care if he’s listening for all the attention he spares, “Thought about how good you’d be for me,” and Fjord moans, so Caleb presses back in with three fingers, “Thought about how I’d have you, or maybe letting you have me,” and he spreads his fingers wide and a sound bubbles up in his chest, but doesn’t make it out of his mouth and Fjord is seeing stars.

“Thought about bending you over the desk,” Caleb pauses there, like he’s making sure he still has Fjord’s attention, “Or keeping you just like this. Or maybe, making you work for it,” he still sounds so casual, but Fjord can just hear the strain.

It’s there, Caleb’s slowly coming unravelled.

“What do you think, Fjord?” Caleb says and stops moving, pressing a hand down on Fjord’s hip.

He could move if he wanted to, fuck himself on Caleb’s fingers, but he’s trying so hard to be good, so he doesn’t. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Caleb cuts him off with a sharp nip to his thigh that has his words drying up.

There’s a beat where he thinks Caleb’s going to admonish him, but Caleb’s attention is on his thigh where he starts working what’s undoubtedly going to be a spectacular bruise into the skin. He leans away from Fjord’s thigh and hums, curling his fingers, “I think you could ride me,” he says finally, curling his fingers again, so Fjord definitely doesn’t stand a chance at replying, beyond a subvocal groan.

Caleb still takes no pity on him from there, now that he’s seemed to have made up his mind, he curls and spreads his fingers, fucking him shallowly, while all Fjord can do is hang on and moan and leak precum all over his belly.

And then, all at once, Caleb is gone, and Fjord whines quietly, even though Caleb is still right there on the bed, within view, “Easy, liebling, you’re doing so good,” he says and Fjord watches hazily as Caleb sits back on his heels and strokes his own cock a few times.

“Trade with me,” he says suddenly and Fjord releases the bars, flexing his fingers as he shuffles away from the pillows. He wants to touch, but Caleb hasn’t said anything about that yet, so he keeps his hands to himself.

Caleb gets himself comfortable against the pillows and Fjord has to curl his fingers against his thighs not to reach out and touch him, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

Once Caleb is settled, he thinks the torture might finally be over, but instead Caleb scoops up the vial and pours a little more into his hand, “You’re being so good for me,” he says lowly, stroking his hand over his cock, “Come on, I think you’re ready.”

Fjord doesn’t need to be told twice, just swings his leg over Caleb’s hips, though one of Caleb’s hands lands on his hip, keeping him still. “Please, Ca-” his words are lost to a stuttering groan as Caleb starts to press up into him.

But he only goes about an inch before lowering his hips back to the bed, tapping Fjord’s hip, “Come on, liebling, I want you to show me what a good boy you can be,” and there’s no hiding his full body shudder.

It’s all the encouragement he needs though, bracing himself with his hands on Caleb’s thighs behind him as he presses down, letting gravity do most of the work until he’s fully seated on Caleb’s lap. The angle is good, so good, and they’re both panting, but Fjord doesn’t give either of them a chance to catch their breath.

He’s too impatient, too strung tight to wait, so he rolls his hips, only lifting himself a little, before grinding back down onto Caleb’s cock.

Caleb, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind the pace, his groans soft as he rubs his hands over Fjord’s thighs, “Pace yourself, don’t want you to wear yourself out before you come,” and it’s said like a warning.

At this point, Fjord’s not sure if Caleb would really do that to him and, as much as he doesn’t really want to tempt that, he’s a little frayed at the edges with desperation.

And maybe, a little bit, he wants to make sure Caleb knows he can be _good_.

So he fucks himself as best he can, rocking his hips, twisting and grinding down and finding the moves that drag shuddering groans out of Caleb and doing them again and again and again until Caleb’s fingernails are digging into his thighs.

“You can touch now,” Caleb says, when Fjord’s simply grinding down against him, his thighs burning and his shoulders straining from keeping his hands still behind him on Caleb’s thighs.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, swaying Fjord so he’s arched over Caleb, sliding his hands up Caleb’s stomach, over his ribs, scraping his claws over Caleb’s nipples, touching as much skin as he can, still grinding down against Caleb’s lap.

Caleb’s hands move as well, sliding up Fjord’s back, dragging his nails over the scarred skin and then over his neck and into his hair and he tugs a little, “Come on, Fjord, like you mean it.”

And that’s not a challenge he can ignore.

It takes a little rearranging, tucking his legs under himself to give better leverage now that he’s bent forward over Caleb, but it’s easier this way, for him to work his hips, lifting himself up and letting gravity drag him right back down.

This angle is electric, lighting him up from the inside out, and pushing him right to the cusp of orgasm, but still not enough to push him over. It’s worth it though, for the way Caleb’s words finally fail him in favor of low, throaty groans, his fingers tight in Fjord’s hair.

He worries a string of marks into whatever bits of skin he can reach, even though it leaves his back arched too much. He doesn’t care, any stiffness will be worth it tomorrow, especially when Caleb’s long fingers wrap around his cock that so far has been ignored.

Caleb starts meeting his thrusts though, planting his feet and fucking up, and Fjord ends up with his forehead tucked against Caleb’s chest, panting wildly, feeling like every nerve ending in his body is on fire.

“Come for me,” and Fjord will overthink it later that that’s all it takes for him to do just that, thighs tensing as he spills over Caleb’s fingers and chest with a too loud moan.

And Caleb grinds up against him through it, fingers falling to Fjord’s thighs, tensing and relaxing there.

It takes a minute or maybe longer for Fjord’s mind to start functioning once more and he starts rocking again, twisting his hips down in dirty little grinds that Caleb seems to like. His thighs are burning and he’s very close to too sensitive, but it’s worth it for the way that Caleb’s mouth falls open with a quiet groan.

Caleb’s fingers suddenly dig in hard and he groans, finally loud enough to fill the room as his orgasm crashes over him. Fjord answers with a quiet moan of his own, his chin tucked against his chest as he stills, his thighs quaking with effort and the almost too much stimulation.

He’s careful not to slump down over Caleb though, pressing his forehead against Caleb’s shoulder as they both try to catch their breath, and at some point, Caleb’s hands come up and start rubbing over his back.

Fjord feels like he should say something, but he can’t get his mouth to form words, can’t really get any of his body to respond until Caleb gently nudges him. His thighs protest like mad as he pushes up and he doesn’t really do anything so much as tip himself over onto the bed.

As much as he wants to doze, he watches Caleb instead, watches as he slides off the bed, taking in the long, pale planes of his body, the ring of pink marks over his collar bones. He’s always sort of envied Caleb’s casual approach to nudity, ever since the beach that first time, and the only difference now is that he can properly appreciate it.

Caleb looks over and catches him staring, but doesn’t comment, simply cocking an eyebrow, before turning back to the small basin of water in the corner of the room.

Any other time, Fjord might’ve felt embarrassed about getting caught watching, but he doesn’t have the energy in him for it. He stays quiet, watching Caleb clean himself off and watching as Caleb comes back with a damp rag.

It’s far more intimate, the way Caleb cleans him up, the fact that he’s practically putty under Caleb’s hands, muscles lax and barely holding onto conscious. The way his cock twitches in a desperate but futile effort at getting hard again as Caleb drags the rag over his skin and the way that it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Caleb.

The rag gets tossed uncaring onto the floor and Fjord curls into Caleb’s side once he’s settled back on the bed, unconsciously pressing his head back into the hand the slides through his hair.

Caleb hums softly, “All good?”

Fjord nods, but the hand in his hair stops, so he licks his lips and clears his throat, “Very good,” he manages, voice more of a hoarse croak, but the hand starts again.

“Worth the wait, ja?” And Fjord just rumbles his agreement, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, face tucked into Caleb’s neck as he slides his hand over Caleb’s middle, “Go to sleep, liebling.”

\------------

Fjord wakes up alone in the bed, the spot next to him no longer warm and sun filtering through the curtains. It’s a little disheartening, but he stretches out, trying to work the stiffness out of his thighs. It gives way to a pleasant burn and he’s just manages to shuffle himself to sit on the edge of the bed when the door creaks open.

“I was expecting you to still be asleep,” Caleb says instead of a greeting, but he’s smiling a little and fairly dressed down, just a shirt and trousers and boots. He doesn’t even have his book holsters on. “Caduceus and I went to find an herbalist,” he explains as he steps into the room, nudging the door shut, “Needed salve for my skin.”

Muffling a yawn against his fist, Fjord nods, slowly piecing it together, “So beach day is happening?”

Caleb squints at him for a second, though Fjord isn’t sure what he’s looking for, then nods, “Ja, as far as I am aware. Do you not wish to go?”

“No, no, I definitely want to go,” Fjord corrects softly and rubs his hands over his thighs, before he stands. There’s definitely beard burn on his inner thighs and a few spots where Caleb left definitive marks, but he’s more thinking of the chain of marks he left on Caleb’s chest.

There won’t be any hiding those.

Fjord has just gotten his trousers up and is staring down at his laces when there’s a knock on the door. And before either of them can respond, the handle turns and Jester pops her head in, “Good morning, boys!”

Caleb is on the edge of the bed, reading the directions on his salve, and simply blinks at her, ignoring the way Fjord swears and turns away.

Jester giggles, “We’re going to be leaving soon, I think! Beau’s getting bored downstairs,” she stage whispers the last part, but Fjord can’t see her face to gauge what that’s about. Caleb chuckles softly and he knows he’s missed something but he doesn’t turn, instead focuses on doing up his laces.

“Those are some nice scratches, Fjord! Okay bye!”

The door clicks shut as Fjord turns, trying to sort out what she’s talking about.

Caleb is muffling laughs against his hand, eyes crinkled as he peers at Fjord.

He can’t see over his shoulder to his back so he turns back to squint at Caleb. He doesn’t remember Caleb scratching him last night, but that doesn’t really mean anything. There are big swathes of his back that he can’t feel even feel to begin with, “Leave some marks of your own, huh?”

Caleb shrugs, but Fjord sees what he’s doing, the way it causes the shirt to slide a little off his one shoulder, baring some of the marks Fjord left. It’s that moment that Fjord realizes that Caleb is wearing one of his shirts, an older one, softer and a little worn, and warmth floods his chest.

He packs that away for later in favor of pulling a shirt on himself. “Anything special you need to do with that?” He asks as he sinks next to Caleb on the bed to pull his boots on.

“No, just have to rub it over my skin,” he answers, turning the little tin over in his hands.

“I can do that for you, once we’re there?”

Caleb nods, his smile small and fond as he stands. Fjord’s expecting him to step away, but he steps in instead, pushing himself between Fjord’s thighs and draping his arms over his shoulders.

Fjord straightens himself out and meets Caleb part way, the kiss soft and warm and easy, before Caleb eases back, thumbs gently against Fjord’s cheeks, “Hallo.”

“Hello yourself,” Fjord says quietly, looping his arms around Caleb’s back and nuzzling against his stomach, rumbling out a pleased sound when Caleb scratches fingers through his hair, “Think I’m close to needing a cut.”

There’s a moment and then Caleb hums and tugs, just a little, “I think you should leave it,” his nails scrape over Fjord’s scalp, “The curls suit you.”

Fjord tips his head back, pressing his chin against Caleb’s stomach as he peers up at him, considering for a moment before he shrugs, “Saves me some trouble,” he says, as if he wouldn’t leave it be just because Caleb likes it.

Someone chooses that moment to bang on the door. Hard.

“Come on, if you two are banging in there, we’re leaving you behind!”

Caleb grins down at him, “We can find our own way to the beach then, Beauregard!”

There’s a long pause before Beau bangs on the door again, “You’re full of shit, Widogast! Lets go!”

Fjord muffles his laugh into Caleb’s stomach before he nudges him back so he can stand as well, “We’re coming, Beau,” he calls out, though Caleb’s the one to take his hand and tug him towards the door.

She squints at them when the door opens and then turns, marching for the stairs, “Come on!”

Caleb’s fingers curl around his and Fjord bumps their shoulders, following behind Beau at a more sedate pace, partially to irritate her, but also because there’s no real rush. They’ve got time.

**Author's Note:**

> i yell about feelings on [twitter](https://twitter.com/red_hoodsy) and reblog stuff on [tumblr](https//redhoods.tumblr.com).


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